


If You Go Into The Woods

by victorine



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Freddie is Gretel, Hannibal is The Witch, Hansel & Gretel AU, M/M, Magic, Romance, Will is Hansel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-16 14:36:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8106112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/pseuds/victorine
Summary: Once upon a time, in a land ravaged by famine, lived a young man named Will, who was cursed with the power of empathy. Will's father can no longer feed him, or his sister Freddie. Will's stepmother plans to lead the siblings into the forest to die.
Will has other ideas.
So begins a journey that will bring Will to the house of a witch named Hannibal, who offers companionship, understanding, and a diet consisting mainly of pig.
A Hannigram Hansel and Gretel AU.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Artwork by the lovely and mega-talented [@theartofjeremyk](http://theartofjeremyk.tumblr.com) over on tumblr. Thank you for the wonderful illustrations!
> 
> Many thanks to my darling [Hot Molasses](http://archiveofourown.org/users/HotMolasses/pseuds/HotMolasses) for beta duties and also for holding my hand through this whole thing!
> 
> Thanks also to the many and varied fannibals who listened to me whine as I wrote this ridiculous story - you are all marvellous, and far too kind to this terrible procrastinator. I love you all.
> 
> And finally, apologies to the Brothers Grimm, on whose Hansel and Gretel this is based.

  
  


Once upon a time, a young man with a strange ability lived on the edge of a large forest. His name was Will, and he could see into the heart of a man with no more than a look. None could hide even their blackest, deepest desires from him, a mere moment in his presence could flay the most subtle emotion from their souls. At times he would speak in other men’s voices, use their words, reflect their movements. Some believed he would steal your soul, others that he could possess your mind. And so Will was hated, and feared, and shunned by all those near him, forced to withdraw into his family home and prevented from making his way in the world.

Yet even in the heart of his home he found no comfort. His adopted father found him useful for his labour and kept him hard at work cutting wood until his muscles ached. But Jack had little love for the young man, whom he had adopted for the sake of his late wife, feeling only pain at her loss when he caught sight of Will. His stepmother Bedelia, Jack’s new wife of the last three years, was even worse. She openly despised Will, believing him weak and selfish, a freakish burden on her life. When he looked into her eyes he saw how she would crush him beneath her, if ever the opportunity arose.

Even his sister, Fredericka, his only flesh and blood, showed him no affection. She tried to use his gift to gain power, determined to discover the secrets held by those in their village with wealth and power and use them to gain these for herself. But while Will often thought that such men deserved to be exposed and punished for their concealed natures, he did not think that Freddie, with her cruel tongue and her greed, should profit from it. And when he had refused her, she had turned on him, branding him crazy and further blackening his name with rumours and gossip.

And so Will was alone, save for the wild animals he befriended as he went about his job. Yet Will was not entirely unhappy in being unwanted by the world. His gift had long made him grow cynical of his fellow man, finding all but a few to be petty and small-minded, with no beauty to light their souls. So he preferred to be away from the cacophony of offhand cruelty and everyday hatred. And he might have gone on this way forever, content to spend his days at labour and his nights nourishing his mind with books and quiet contemplation. He had no idea of finding someone to love him, let alone someone with a mind he could love in return.

In his twenty-fifth year, there came a terrible and devastating famine that killed many in the kingdom and left those who survived merely on the cusp of the same fate. It was then that Will began to see a change in Jack, the poison Bedelia had so long dripped in his ear finally beginning to override the deathbed promise he had made Bella, to protect her children after she had passed. One night, he felt overwhelmed by the pulsing waves of bitter resentment and strange, almost manic excitement that seemed to fill the air around him. Rising from bed, he pressed his ear to the crack in his bedroom door and listened to the whispered conversation that would seal his fate.

“Tell me now, before I change my mind.” Jack’s voice was like the low roll of thunder as the storm begins.

“We will not be entirely unkind,” came Bedelia's purr, deliberate and seductive. “We will give them a wonderful last day with their family. You will tell them that you are going deep into the woods, further than ever before, to scout new areas to be worked, and you require all of us to accompany you. I will pack food and we will eat together, far from home. After, they will want to sleep. And they will never wake again.”

“No pain, then.”

“It will be something akin to slipping into a warm bath. The most pleasurable of ends.”

Will shuddered, and drew back into the dark of his room to think.

All night, Will considered his options. Had it been only himself in danger, he might simply have slipped from the house, to take his chances in some other village or town. But they wanted his sister’s death too and for all that Freddie was cruel and bitter towards him, Will could not allow that to happen. She was all the true family he had.

Will was not sure, though, that Freddie would believe his story. And even if she did, she would likely not comply with his plan, wanting to confront and expose their parents though they had no evidence and would not be believed. Besides, as the night had worn on, Will had come to realise that he desired a harsher revenge to befall them. He would deliver a reckoning, one that would wipe at least some of the cruelty from his world.

So he let his sister sleep on, and in the morning he rose, intent on ensuring that it was they who would return from the heart of the woods, and not his traitorous parents.

***

“ _Will!_ What are you staring at, son?” Birds erupted from the trees as Jack’s bellowing shook them from root to branch. Will turned a rictus grin on him.

“Oh, I just thought I saw Winston,” he explained.

Freddie snorted. “Still talking to ghosts, brother?” she sniped.

“Winston’s a fox. I changed to animals,” Will shot back, “seeing as they have fewer flaws than humans.”

Freddie rolled her eyes and, coming up close, she leaned in and whispered, “You will never be normal.”

He threw off the familiar phrase, one she had taunted him with since they were children, but couldn't do the same for the searching look Bedelia gave him as she followed Freddie deeper into the forest. He hoped she hadn't picked up on what he was doing: they had left behind the woods Will had long mapped in his mind and he could no longer guarantee he could find his way back. So, at regular intervals he had started to hang back a little, using his knife to make a mark in the trees so that he would know they were on the right path. It only took a moment, but Bedelia's eyes were sharp (when she was not inebriated) and it was her nature to suspect Will of treachery. He would have to hope he could be quick enough to escape her scrutiny.

They trudged onwards through the morning, thankful for the shade of the trees as the sun climbed, and only cool, dappled light reached them. Will could sense that Jack and Bedelia were trying to shade their own thoughts in the same way, trying to keep their minds free of anything but the mundane, as if that could stop him from knowing the cruelty that was in their hearts. They were even, he realised, attempting to keep Freddie between them and him, perhaps thinking that the volume of her emotions – mainly irritation and resentment this morning – would muffle theirs.

Will smirked. They truly had no understanding of how his gift worked. Had they ever taken an interest, they might have known that he could not have blocked their feelings even if he had wanted to. Even though it was all he had craved for his whole life. But people rarely attempt to understand what frightens them, he reflected, they just push it away or lock it up. Will wondered if they would have time to regret that before he brought them to their end.

Perhaps it was such daydreaming that was his downfall because, not long after, as Will flicked out his wrist quickly to once more blaze the trunk of a tree, he heard a sharp voice close by.

“Will, what do you think you are doing with that knife?” Bedelia asked, the entire family stopping to see what their most dangerous and frightening member was up to now.

“Um, I'm just… marking our path, in case we forget our way.” Half a truth was better than a lie.

“What a thoughtful boy.” Bedelia's slow, deliberate tone slid along Will's nerves like a needle through flesh. “But your father knows his way. You trust him, don't you Will?”

Will locked eyes with her, feeling the blade in his hand and wondering if she would make a sound while he split her neck. But then Jack would surely attack him and Will knew he was outmatched in any physical altercation with the older man. He couldn't risk such reckless satisfaction.

“Yes, of course,” he told her, doing his best to appear docile.

“Good,” she said, slinking closer so that no one else could hear her murmur, “I’d hate to have to tell Jack you doubted him. Who knows how he might react…” Her lips curved in what ought to have been a smile. It had the shape of one. “Perhaps you should give me that knife, just to prove your trust.”

Will could not hide his dismay, or think of an excuse to disobey her. He placed the knife in her upturned palm, and cringed at the flash of triumph on her face before she turned away. Will trailed behind her, desperately trying to figure out what to do. For a moment he considered breaking the loaf he had secreted in his clothing into breadcrumbs and dropping them behind him but quickly discarded the idea as nonsense. Either they would be lost in the undergrowth or eaten by animals. Better to keep the bread to feed himself.

He had no choice but to follow through on his original plan and hope that his sense of direction would be keen enough to lead them home. If ever he had thought that there was a way out of the forest without at least two deaths occurring, it had vanished once he looked directly into Bedelia’s eyes. She craved his death with all her heart. He could only pray that she craved a drink more.

This was Will’s plan: before Bedelia’s poisoned food could touch their lips, Will would propose a toast to their family. He had been keeping a bottle of liquor hidden in his room, hoarded against some unknown special occasion that would likely never come. Now, it contained the same poison with which Bedelia had laced their food. Will had long made it his business to know where his stepmother kept her secrets hidden and it hadn’t been hard to slip past her sleeping form to procure the small bottle meant to bring about his death.

Will had never known Bedelia to refuse a drink, he had every reason to think she would put aside her distrust of him in order to indulge. And if Bedelia indulged, Jack was sure to follow – he'd long since learned the value of matching his wife drink-for-drink, that way he could be sure to be passed out well before the worst of her unfiltered personality came forth.

Freddie would not be a problem: his sister had not touched liquor since the infamous night of her eighteenth birthday, a year past, when she had made a fool of herself dancing naked in the town square. Will suspected she also rather enjoyed the pious smugness in which such abstention allowed her to indulge.

Finally, when the sun had climbed high in the sky, and Freddie’s complaints had grown past bearing, Jack led them into a clearing and declared they would stop for lunch. Will's stomach knotted instantly at the thought of what he planned, and for one moment he thought to prostrate himself at his stepfather’s feet, begging him to remember Bella and the love she had borne her adopted children. But he thought back on their long walk through the forest, of Jack’s certain path as he led them to the place they would die, no hesitation or reluctance in his steps. Jack had made his decision, Will realised, and would not be swayed.

Neither, then, would Will.

Bedelia moved around them, laying out the meagre provisions she had brought together, careful to keep the food intended for Will and Freddie subtly separate from her own and Jack’s. Will actually heard her humming under her breath and realised that the normally reserved woman was nearly vibrating with barely-restrained glee at the thought of dispatching her hated stepchildren. He felt the same eagerness suffuse him at the prospect of outwitting her, and could not tell if the emotion was borrowed from Bedelia or came from within himself. _Never mind_ , he thought distantly, _it's mine now and I mean to use it._

“Come then, children,” Bedelia beckoned them in a sing-song sweet voice Will had never heard from her before, “come sit with us and enjoy our food.”

Will could almost hear the unspoken _for the last time_ ring between them.

Freddie had no such concerns and flopped down on the blanket where Jack and Bedelia had already arranged themselves, immediately reaching out for the food. She squealed in surprise when Will's hand encircled her wrist and drew her back, looking up at him in irritation. “Do you always have to get in my way, freak?” she snapped.

“Sorry, sister,” Will said, his tone soft, his smile placatory, “but before we eat, I thought I might share something with my dear family.”

He did not need to look at Bedelia and Jack to feel the storm of emotion – bitter irritation and angry suspicion – radiating from them. Nor did he miss the pulse of interest from his stepmother as he drew the bottle from his coat, its amber contents seeming to glow in the dappled light.

Freddie huffed and crossed her arms. “You know I don't drink that filth,” she said, “I don't see why I couldn't have started eating.”

“Dear me, Fredericka, have you no sense of manners?” Bedelia smirked. “You must be careful, or you will find yourself punished for such rudeness. Please, Will, that is a lovely gesture, do pour for us.”

Will arranged three cups and poured a good measure into each, feeling his parents’ eyes track his movements. He thought he felt a ripple of something from Bedelia, but was too concerned with keeping his hands steady and his smile sincere to consider it. As Jack and Bedelia each took a cup and raised them towards Will in thanks, he could almost taste the relief. Soon, it would be over.

Then Bedelia lowered her drink.

“But Will, here I am schooling my dear Freddie in manners and about to be terribly gauche myself,” she said, eyes glinting with amusement. “Surely, you should take the first draught, as it was you who so generously provided the drink.”

Will met her gaze and wondered how long she had known, how he could not have realised. Yet despite such questions, in that moment, their relationship was the clearest it had ever been: neither would be satisfied until the other was dead.

Bedelia threw her glass at Will and knocked Jack’s from his hand, hissing, “Do not drink the little fool’s poison.”

Will dodged the missile and dragged Freddie to her feet, shoving her behind him and ignoring her shrill demands to know what he was thinking and what trouble he was making for them now. Bedelia and Jack had risen too, she sliding behind her husband's bulk with a wicked smile on her face, sensing victory at hand. He wondered if perhaps this had been her plan all along, coaxing Will into attacking first, thereby destroying any reticence Jack might have fostered against hurting him. Will was now explicitly a threat, and Jack had always dealt with those in one, very effective way: by throwing every last bit of his considerable weight at it until it lay crushed beneath him. Will didn't stand a chance.

But the carving knife strapped to his arm would at least allow him to try.

Jack narrowed his eyes as Will shed his coat and pulled the knife free, something like approval flashing in his eyes. A worthy opponent was always Jack’s preference. He prowled towards Will, who flashed the blade in warning, eyes roving across Jack’s body in search of a weak point. His neck would be perfect; jam the knife into the artery and stand back as the man’s life gushed out of him, red and unstoppable. But the man was so much taller, had so much more bulk than Will, it would be a foolish strategy. Jack would break him in two before he ever got close.

Instead, Will allowed himself to tremble and hesitate as Jack approached, telegraphing to the man that one swift tackle would remove the threat, backing away to lure Jack into closing the gap. The bait was eagerly taken, Jack rushing towards Will with an almighty roar. At the last possible second, Will stepped out of his path and dropped to the ground, dragging his knife deep across the back of Jack’s ankles. At the howl the man let out, Will thought for a glorious moment that he had successfully incapacitated him, praying for Jack to pitch and tumble to the ground. But though he staggered and screamed, Jack kept to his feet and Will realised he must have slashed too high or too shallow to have any real impact.

Still, Jack was injured and in pain. Perhaps it would be enough.

Then he heard laughter behind him, and turned to see his mistake.

Bedelia held Freddie in front of her, a knife to her throat. Will’s knife. “Enough. Submit, Will, or I will slit your sister’s scrawny neck.”

Will almost laughed himself, hopelessness mixing with his fury. “An empty threat, Bedelia. Or a stupid one, rather. Doesn't matter what I do, you'll kill her anyway, and me, it's the only reason we're out here.”

She smiled and Will tasted acid in his throat. “Such a clever boy. And yet so brave. Didn't mommy ever tell you, Will? _Don’t be brave, only stupid, reckless boys are brave._ ”

She shifted her stance to take a better grip of Freddie and Will could already see, in his mind’s eye, the arc of blood drawn behind the knife like a comet’s tail. There was nothing for him to do, no way past Jack, no time to get to Bedelia.

He froze.

He had failed.

But instead of the scream of Freddie’s life leaving her, the forest suddenly resounded with the rattle of hoof beats, shaking the ground and halting Bedelia’s fatal motion. Four heads turned towards the noise, eyes wide and terrified as a huge, dark shape burst from the foliage and landed in the clearing, breath steaming, hooves sure and steady.

It had the shape of a stag but it was big, too big, towering above even Jack, its antlers weaving amongst the forest canopy. Its soot-black fur was dusted with feathers, most of which gathered densely in a muzzle beneath the jut of its jaw.

Will knew its name, familiar from the pages of childhood fairytales.

A ravenstag.

Its huge head swung to take in the scene, coiled power radiating from it and seeming to pin the shocked humans in place. For a second it caught Will’s eye and he gasped as he sensed something ancient and unknowable taking his measure. It took no further notice of him, though, but instead pawed the ground, angled itself towards Bedelia, and charged.

Bedelia shoved Freddie into its path but as the girl fell to her knees, the stag simply sailed over her, seeming to hang in the air for a moment. It did not shift its direction even slightly as it flew, but lowered its head and surged towards Bedelia, who could do nothing more than reach out her hands and close her eyes. Its antlers sank deep into her flesh, drawing an agonised howl from the woman, and still the stag continued its charge, lifting Bedelia across the clearing and pinning her limp body to the wide, unforgiving base of a tree.

Will watched, fascinated, as her body twitched and convulsed, then stilled, her head dropping like a doll’s. The stag seemed to watch too, as if enjoying the results of its work, before pulling back and allowing Bedelia's body to drop heavily to the dirt. It looked back towards Will, and he almost felt as if the beast was nodding at him, acknowledging his thanks, including him in its satisfaction. A pact, between man and stag, and Will forgot there was anyone else with them as he met its red eyes with awe.

The noise of Jack’s bellowing fury broke the bond, and Will turned to watch the man drive himself at the stag, ramming his shoulder into its side.

It was almost comical, Will thought distantly, as he watched his stepfather attempt to overwhelm the great beast. Jack might have easily outclassed Will in a fight, but the stag was unnaturally large, covered in muscle and wielding antlers that Will had seen stab straight through Bedelia as though she were made of nothing but light and air. Jack ducked and weaved, and swung and kicked and still the stag barely reacted.

Will suspected it was rather amused.

He took his chance and grabbed a panicking, incoherent Freddie from the forest floor, pulling her into the shadow of the stag’s huge form, a wall between them and Jack. She made to run from the clearing, but Will held her still, unwilling to abandon the creature that had saved him. Or to miss seeing Jack’s fate with his own eyes.

It seemed the ravenstag had been waiting only for Will to act, because once the siblings were behind it, the creature knocked Jack to the ground with one sweep of its great head. It prowled towards the stunned man and, as if he weighed nothing, the stag scooped Jack up with its antlers and tossed him high into the air, his limbs flailing uselessly. His hands scrabbled for purchase on the branches he rose upwards to meet, but to no avail and he descended unchecked towards the beast below. Jack landed with an ugly cracking sound on the sharp tines that awaited him, his body instantly going limp. The stag bowed minutely under his weight, and then dropped him to the ground with a grunt. The angles Jack’s body settled in were all wrong, twisted and unnatural in a way that told Will his bones were shattered, his back snapped. He would not rise from the ground again.


	2. Chapter 2

Will and Freddie stood, breaths heavy and desperate, behind the steady barrier of the ravenstag. Will felt the unnatural heat that rolled from it and breathed in its scent to ground himself. He raised a hand, about to touch his palm gently to its flank when Freddie jolted from her stupor, shoving against the beast, her screams shrill in the cooling air.

“Get _away_ from me, you foul thing! You have to kill it, Will!”

“Why?” he inquired, keeping his voice mild as he tried to soothe the animal. “Did you miss it saving us? Killing it would be kind of ungrateful.” As if it understood, the stag pushed its snout against Will's palm, drawing a sound of delight from him.

Freddie crossed her arms and held her ground. “It's dangerous and unnatural. It isn't one of your harmless woodland friends, Will.”

“Freddie, if you can't show gratitude to a being that saved your life, I'm not certain you deserve to keep it.”

There was nothing malicious in Will's tone but the words still caused his sister to draw back. “What is that supposed to mean?” she hissed.

Will drew his hand across his face. “Nothing. I meant nothing. I'm as frightened and confused as you, that's all. Whatever it is, the stag acted to protect us, seems foolish to betray it after that.”

Will saw the hatred in her eyes as clearly as ever, even as she schooled her expression into something conciliatory. For a moment, the image of Freddie held aloft, gored on the ravenstag’s antlers flashed past his eyes, as he felt the press of the beast beside him, its breath aligned with his own. He thought perhaps, if he asked it, the stag would make it come true. He thought, perhaps, he would prefer to do it himself.

He let the thought pass.

“Fine, let it live,” Freddie conceded. “And what about us? We are more likely to starve, or die of the cold than to find our way back home. Can the beast save us from that?”

Will looked at the ravenstag sadly, knowing his sister's words to be true. Nonsensical, he murmured to the animal, “Can you? Can you save us one more time?”

The stag turned its dark eyes to Will's bright ones, a look in them that he could not interpret, and then it was moving away, back into the cover of the forest. Will sighed, aching to see it abandon them, but then the stag stopped, turned its head and waited. They were to follow.

“Will, _don't_ ,” Freddie hissed, as he moved to go after it.

He turned back and spread his hands in honest curiosity. “Where else should we go?”

Freddie's mouth worked and she glared, first at Will, then at the stag. Then her shoulders dropped and she started forward, making sure to keep Will between her and the beast. Will spared a last look for the ruined corpses of the couple who had never really been his parents, then slipped off the path, into the shadows.

***

They followed the gleam of the ravenstag's plumage, its feathers seeming to pick up the smallest bit of light and magnify it. For hours they walked, until the light was beginning to bleed from the sky and Will could barely think for hunger and exhaustion. Even Freddie had long-since ceased her complaints, saving her breath to keep pace with the stag’s long strides. This, at least, Will could enjoy.

He was beginning to worry, though. The stag seemed confident in its direction, even leading them several times to pools of fresh drinking water and letting them slake their thirst. Yet, there had been no signs of anything around to help them, no indications that they were being brought towards a settlement, with food and shelter. Only a thickening canopy of green and the sense that the forest’s edge remained far from reach.

He could feel Freddie's doubt, almost hear her furious regret at having followed him. It began to infect him and he wondered if he should try to stop the beast, attempt to set up some sort of shelter for the night. Distracted by thoughts of what materials he might be able to purpose into a cover, and a rueful longing for a tinderbox, Will only realised they had entered a clearing when Freddie grabbed his arm and shook it.

“Will, _look!_ ” she breathed.

The pair watched, mesmerised, as the stag made its way through a garden unlike either had ever seen before. It burst with flowers, all in shades of brightest blue, growing tall and elegant along the edges of a winding path. And at its end stood a great house, not the squat, pitched kind found in their village, but tall and grand, its many windows edged in snowy white, stark against the soft tan of its perfectly even stonework.

Entranced, both siblings drew forward and then Freddie took a deep breath and whispered, “Can you _smell_ that?”

Will could. It was honey and spiced sweetness, rich and heady. It made Will's mouth water and his stomach, empty for hours, growl. And it was, he realised, coming from the house.

He wondered, hazily, if perhaps the building itself tasted sweet, its walls made of gingerbread, its windows neatly covered in sugar-white icing.

Then he shook himself for the silly thought and looked towards the open front door, from where the smell was clearly emanating. Inside, someone was cooking.

Freddie, clearly, had come to the same conclusion, for she shot forward with a gleeful cry, flew up the steps and disappeared into the house, ignoring Will's shouted protests that she should not enter a person’s home without permission.

The ravenstag merely snorted.

Will looked at it, ravenous with hunger and yet knowing that it would be foolish to follow his sister. He drifted closer to the front door, craning to get a glimpse inside, determined not to enter, regardless of the delicious aromas on the air, wrapping themselves in his breath, pulling teasingly at his stomach.

He was so very hungry. But he was not stupid. Will had read enough stories to know that entering into a strange house in the middle of nowhere was immeasurably foolish, no matter your desperation. He was sorely tempted to leave Freddie to it – he'd put himself in danger to protect her life and yet she seemed to have no respect for it herself. Why should he risk himself again for someone like that, family or not?

A scream followed by a crash jolted Will from his reverie. He stared up at the house and saw Freddie pelting for the front door from inside, her mouth set in determination, body tipped forward and straining towards escape. Will could only watch, frozen, as she made it to the threshold, grinning triumphantly, and took off down the steps…

…only to be halted and tugged back by the grip of a man who had not been there a moment before.

“You should have listened to your young man’s advice not to trespass on my property, miss, his manners are much better than yours. Eating someone out of house and home is quite rude. Now what's to be done about that?”

The voice was smooth, and accented, and Will thought briefly that, in any other situation, he would have found it warm and comforting. Instinctively he dashed towards his sister, up the stairs and onto the porch. When he got there, he raised his hands, palms aloft in supplication and moved cautiously towards the man, saying, “Please, you don't have to do this. Sir, we're very sorry. Please let her go.”

The man smiled at his words and gently pushed Freddie towards Will, who quickly placed himself between her and the stranger. “You see,” the lilting, foreign voice said, “your beau has clearly been brought up far better than you, young lady.”

“I'm not her beau, I'm her brother. And you're a witch.”

His accusation drew a curse from Freddie and a smirk from the man, who took a smooth step towards him. Now that he was close, Will couldn’t help but examine the witch’s appearance. He was beautiful, in the way of a beast in the moment before a kill, with eyes that were brown but seemed red, and a cruel yet fascinating curl to his lips, which opened on a question.

“And what brings you to such a conclusion, young man?”

Something in his hindbrain was screaming at Will that he should attack, subdue this man and get far, far away. Will ignored it, feeling oddly unfazed by the witch’s proximity. “There's nothing behind your eyes. I can't see you, can't read you. Only a witch can hide from me.”

“Why, dear boy, have you some magic of your own, then?”

“No, I know what kind of strange I am and it's not that. Merely a decent mind and a vivid imagination.”

“So certain?” The witch’s eyes narrowed in reptile curiosity. “Fascinating. I would dearly love to get a look inside your head.”

Before Will could consider the meaning of that, Hannibal waved a hand and the young man felt consciousness fall away from him, his body folding into Hannibal's arms. He heard a thump that suggested Freddie had not been provided such a soft landing, and then darkness overtook him.

***

Will awoke to the sound of music coming from somewhere above him, sounding at once strangely discordant and yet pleasing to his ear. He wondered for a moment if he might simply lie there for a while and listen, letting his mind drift wherever the notes might take him. It was still dark, surely Jack would not be calling him to work yet…

Except, no. That was wrong, wasn't it? There wouldn't be any more work, or any more orders from Jack. A slash of red seared across the back of Will's eyelids and he forced them open in order to drive off the memory of Jack's body, carried into death upon the ravenstag's antlers. He was stung by the thread of righteousness that pulled taut along his spine at the thought. Yet opening his eyes did not erase the image, merely superimposed it upon row after row of bare, bleached bones and Will clutched his head, willing the sight to resolve itself into something less gruesome. He felt a hand press against his shoulder-blade and instinctively turned to hit out against the threat.

Years of felling trees had made Will’s body powerful, and so the blow he landed was enough to send Freddie heavily to the ground. She held her jaw and glared up at him resentfully as he came back to himself and looked around, finally taking stock of their location. He hadn't hallucinated the bones. They really were surrounded by the things, held inside a cage fashioned from them. Captured by a witch and placed in a prison made of bones. And if the things they said about witches were true, they were not likely to be those of an animal.

“Sorry. You startled me,” he muttered, by way of an apology.

“I hope he eats you first,” she hissed back.

“I am saddened to hear that, in addition to your rudeness and lack of regard for the property of others, you spread such silly rumours, young lady.” Both siblings’ heads snapped towards the flight of stone steps opposite the cage, as the witch descended them with a disapproving expression.

“Perhaps you could forgive her, seeing as you did render us unconscious and cage us beneath your house.” His words were spiky but Will was careful to keep his tone respectful and his eyes down, not wishing to rile their captor further. “It doesn't exactly inspire trust, sir.”

He was given a shrewd look in reply and then the witch’s features seemed to soften slightly. “That is true, young man, and for that I must apologise, though I would stress it was for your own good.”

Freddie gave a angry bark of a laugh at this and snapped, “You're a liar, witch. Being kept in a cage until I'm ready for your dinner table doesn't sound good to m—” Her last word died in her mouth as the witch waved a hand in her direction. As she worked her mouth and nothing came out, it became clear that the witch had stoppered her voice.

“You are an extremely tiresome young woman. Given which, you would indeed be waiting a long time for an invitation to my table.” Will looked up sharply at the veiled threat but the witch raised his hands placatingly. “Do not worry, I will restore her voice in a little while. And if you like, later I will show you the source of my decidedly non-human ingredients, which should put your minds at ease.”

Will nodded, and then remembered the witch had been about to explain something. “You said you put us in here for our own good?”

“Indeed I did. And indeed it was. I did not want you running off and getting yourselves into more trouble, not after the ravenstag fought so bravely to save your lives.”

Will breathed in sharply and backed away a step. “How do you know that?”

The witch spread his hands and smiled. “I know everything that happens in my forest. There are always plenty of witnesses who let me know if anything interesting occurs.”

Will thought on this for a moment and then asked, “You can speak to them, the animals?” He couldn't keep the note of wonder out of his voice.

“Certainly, though not all are worth speaking to.” The witch gave him a conspiratorial wink, tipping his head minutely in Freddie’s direction. Will held in his smirk, but only fractionally. “The ravenstag, though, is always worth listening to. It is ancient, and wise, and knows when a thing is worth protecting.”

Will raised his eyes at this, and though he could not discern the shape of the witch’s thoughts, he could read the warmth and interest in the man’s expression. Something coiled low in his stomach and Will felt himself unsteadied to be the recipient of such regard. Before he could stop himself, he asked, “Would you tell me your name, sir?”

The witch raised an eyebrow and responded, “Only if I might have yours in return.”

“Oh, you can have them first,” Will said, thinking to ingratiate himself further. “My sister is Fredericka, Freddie usually. And I'm Will.”

“Just Will?” the witch teased.

“Just Will,” the young man agreed.

The witch leaned in and said, softly, “I do not believe you are _just_ anything, young Will.” He inhaled deeply and then drew himself straight again and told them, “I am Hannibal Lecter. Would you like to see where I keep the livestock?”

***

The witch certainly didn't look like a pig farmer, Will reflected. Yet, the pen behind the house was full of at least a dozen large, brawny-looking specimens, clearly well cared-for and healthy.

“I admit, Miss Freddie, that I do indulge in a spot of butchery,” Hannibal said, with a gleam in his eye, “but as you can see it is only ever pigs I bring to the slaughter.”

Freddie, still furiously mired in silence, crossed her arms and let out a huff of air.

Will met the eye of one of the beasts for a moment and, gasping, had to look away. A hand landed gently on his shoulder. “There is an intelligence there, don't you think? A spark of something buried deep inside,” Hannibal observed.

Will settled his breathing and suppressed the lingering sense of the mind he had just touched. He turned to look at Hannibal, struck again by how quiet the witch’s mind was and finding immediate relief in it. “Not just dumb animals,” he muttered.

Their gaze held steady for a moment and then Hannibal looked away, gesturing at the expanse of land before them. “As you can see, between the pigs and the crops I grow here, I am well provided for. No need to roast little children. Or even big ones,” he added, winking at Freddie.

“Couldn't you just magically produce food?” asked Will.

“Indeed I could, dear Will, but it does not nourish in the same way. I am very careful about what I put in my body, Will. As should you be.” He pointed them back towards the house, saying, “Now, if your suspicions have been eased, might I suggest we return to the house and discuss how things are to proceed?”

He led them back inside without waiting for an answer. There had not been much to see on the way between the basement, the back rooms of the house stark and utilitarian, clearly meant to be worked in rather than admired. Now, however, as they entered its more public spaces, both siblings staggered to a halt as they took in the opulence of their surroundings.

They stood in a huge, octagonal foyer, with deep blue walls and a patterned wooden floor, giving the impression of a dark, yet comfortable den. Paintings hung at intervals on every wall, contained in elegant golden frames, along with a number of twisting, sharp-tipped animal horns, so many that Will wondered if Hannibal might be a hunter, as well as a farmer. Several doors led off from the space, all thrown open, and Will could see evidence of more luxurious furnishings within each, jewel-coloured and inviting. The scent of cooking emanated from one of them, mixing with an aroma of fresh herbs from a door further along and making Will’s stomach twist with hunger.

Hannibal must have noticed his longing glance in the direction of the kitchen, for he placed a hand on Will's shoulder and smiled indulgently, saying, “If you can bear to be patient just a little longer, I shall soon see to it that you have more than enough to sate your appetite.”

Will hoped it was a promise to be kept.

Hannibal propelled him forward gently, hand drifting to the small of his back, and as they went further into the house, Will saw the results of Freddie's careless escape. A vase lay smashed in the middle of the floor, the creamy splinters of its shattered form thrown out in all directions, far beyond repair. And one of the many paintings had been knocked crooked, an ugly slash through the canvas splitting it from edge to edge, leaving it ragged and gaping. Will despaired at the sight, feeling as though he he had been sliced through himself, not knowing how on earth they would repay Freddie’s debt.

That despair turned unexpectedly to wonder, though, as they entered the room Hannibal led them to. He felt his breath catch as he crossed the threshold and gazed in amazement. Its walls were lined, from floor to towering ceiling, with more books than Will could conceive of, their deeply coloured bindings seeming to glow welcomingly as the young man gazed, his fingers itching to trace the golden letters of their spines.

Hannibal, apparently already well-tuned to Will’s reactions, seemed to notice this too and smiled benevolently at the young man. “You may read any you choose, I ask only that you make sure your hands are clean before doing so, and refrain from breaking spines as far as possible.”

Will ducked his head, certain that Hannibal had not intended the allusion to his stepfather’s death, but unable to stop the shudder that ran through him in response. “I wouldn't harm them,” he said, in a small voice.

“No, I am sure you wouldn't.” Hannibal laid a gentle hand on Will’s back and guided him towards an armchair, the soft depths of which claimed Will and held him. He could almost have fallen asleep, but instead watched as Hannibal settled himself on a wood-framed sofa the colour of a cloudless sky. With almost a coquettish motion, the witch patted the empty space at his side, inviting Freddie to join him. She huffed, glared and tapped her foot, staccato against the wooden floor, but gave in after a moment and took the proffered seat, perching herself on its edge and as far from Hannibal as possible without falling off.

With a satisfied nod at her obedience, Hannibal looked between the siblings and said, “Well now, it seems that you two have found yourselves in a rather desperate situation.” His tone did not suggest he was overly concerned by this, containing a levity that scraped at Will's nerves.

“You sound rather pleased by that,” he said, unable to hold it in.

Hannibal sighed. “I am not pleased by blood being shed in such a wasteful manner. Nor am I pleased that you find yourselves without a safe place in the world. I imagine that a mind like yours makes you vulnerable to suspicion, Will, and that pleases me least of all.” Will bowed his head, unnerved by the accuracy of the witch's insight. “However, I am glad that you have been brought here, and that I am in a position to offer you assistance, if only you let me. I hope I have sufficiently quelled your suspicions now, that you will believe me when I say that I wish only to help you.”

Freddie crossed her arms, tossing her hair in irritation, but Will could see that she knew as well as he that they had little choice. They couldn't return home without Bedelia and Jack, with no explanation for their disappearance – Hannibal was right, the blame would not take long to land on Will, and Freddie would either be dragged down by it, or left alone to fend for herself. And few would be looking to add a murderer’s sister to their already-stretched households.

“Say we took up your offer,” Will said, easing his words out slowly, “what kind of help did you have in mind?”

Hannibal sat forward in his seat, his eyes bright and seeking out Will's. “I would offer a trade. In exchange for safe harbour in this house, for food and shelter, you will allow me to study that fascinating mind of yours.”

Will balked at this. “I'm not going to be your toy to play with.”

Hannibal immediately leaned back, out of Will's space, and held his palms up, a mirror of the placatory gesture Will had used on him before. “Nor would I wish you to be, Will,” he said, his deep voice a soothing roll. “You are a fine young man, clearly exceptionally bright and well-mannered even without your gift. However, I do have my doubts as to whether you are truly not in possession of some magical talent and I would like to test my theory. It might help to persuade you that, if your gift is magical in nature, then I will most likely be able to help you to control it.”

“Control it how?” Will asked sharply.

“You do not simply read their emotions, do you Will? You sink into them, find that they become your own. I imagine what you see and learn touches everything else in your mind. Your whole life has been spent in desperate fear that you will lose yourself to the creeping infection of other men's thoughts.” Will found he could do nothing but stare at the witch, who had articulated in a few brief sentences what he had struggled a lifetime to explain, the dread that one day he would not be able to find himself in the maelstrom of unwanted intrusions. “I could give you the means to protect yourself, to make a fortress of your mind, to control what and when you see.”

“Nothing,” Will hissed, “I don't want to see anything. Just myself. Can you do that?”

“Perhaps.” The witch tipped his head in contemplation. “But first you must agree to allow me to observe you, can you accept that?”

Will stayed quiet for a long moment. The witch seemed to be offering a life he'd longed for and never thought possible. Privacy in his own mind, protection from everyone else’s. He was tempted. It wasn't in Will's nature to trust so easily, though.

“What about my sister?” he asked, buying time.

“Ah yes, Miss Freddie,” Hannibal said, turning smoothly towards the redhead. “Unfortunately, I cannot be so lenient with you, young lady. You broke into my property, stole my food and destroyed several valuable items and, as such, you owe me a debt. I will feed you and shelter you and keep you safe, just as your brother, but in exchange you will keep my house for me. Aside from the cooking, which is my domain, you will be kept busy with chores from dawn ‘til dusk, until such time as I feel your debt is paid. Now,” he waved a hand at Freddie, “you may speak, miss. How does my offer strike you?”

Freddie glared. “Like a deal with the devil.” She glanced at Will, who saw enough in her eyes to know they would be staying. “Seems I don’t have much of a choice, though.”

Hannibal brought his hands together, satisfied. “And you, Will, what do you say?”

Will had a horrible premonition then, that at least one of them in this room would profoundly regret this decision someday. But his gift had never made him psychic, and he had no other choice to make.

“I will stay too. Thank you, Hannibal.”

The witch’s eyes gleamed, and Will felt oddly excited by the prospect of keeping company with a man whose thoughts were not open to him, of having to work to understand what was in the man’s mind. He determined to study Hannibal just as closely as Hannibal would be studying him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by the wonderful [@theartofjeremyk](http://theartofjeremyk.tumblr.com).
> 
> My eternal thanks, yet again, to HotMolasses for betaing this sucker. I'd be lost without you, hon.

And so Will and Freddie were given rooms in Hannibal’s great house, with beds more comfortable than Will felt was strictly decent, along with fresh clothes and three full meals a day, a luxury that neither sibling had known even before the famine struck. Hannibal’s cooking was remarkable, his lavish kitchen and its cavernous oven producing fine dishes with exotic names, more suited for a royal court than this small, strange household of three. Even Freddie, at first reluctant to accept the witch’s cooking, had been swayed by the rich scent of braised meat and fresh herbs, her first grudging bite turning to a moan of pleasure and a quickly emptied plate.

Will, for his part, had soon wondered aloud how Hannibal was able to create such a variety of meals when he had only pig meat at his disposal. Hannibal had admitted, with a light laugh, that while he could not _create_ nourishing food with magic, there was no such trouble in using it to alter the flavour of a dish. Hannibal could make pork taste like anything, even fish, and often asked Will to suggest some outlandish new recipe from his vast collection of recipe books. It became something of a game between them, Hannibal delighted every time Will came across something truly unusual, and Will always impressed by the witch’s ability to rise to the challenge.

As the weeks spent in Hannibal’s home turned to months, Will found himself growing more comfortable with the witch than he had thought it possible for him to be in another person’s company. Aside from the pleasure of talking to Hannibal without a constant stream of subconscious emotions and desires spilling across the space between them, the witch was a lively and engaging companion. He had vast reserves of knowledge, on topics as diverse as art, philosophy and nature, and well-formed opinions on all. He also listened with seemingly honest interest to Will’s views, chiming in only to supplement Will’s own knowledge, or to gently challenge anything he did not agree with.

Will felt stimulated by conversation for the first time in his life, and began to cherish the long hours spent in Hannibal’s study, discussing whatever happened to take their fancy that day. He especially enjoyed the nights spent together in front of the fire, their exchanges ebbing and flowing while Will tried not to gaze too fondly at the way the firelight caught the witch’s high cheekbones and the fine curve of his mouth. He began to think he might be content to remain here the rest of his life, so long as he had Hannibal to keep him company.

The only dark spot in this new life came in the moments when Hannibal insisted that Will keep his word to allow the witch to study his gift. For the first few weeks, Hannibal did nothing but ask questions: when had Will's gift emerged (he could not remember a time without it); was physical contact necessary (proximity was enough to get impressions, though with eye contact Will could feel another man's emotions with such intensity and precision that he could practically reconstruct their thoughts); how did it make Will feel (like his own mind had turned fluid, spilling out of him, to be filled to the brim by that of another).

Will hated the scrutiny with a passion and often spent hours afterwards roaming the far stretches of Hannibal's land. At times such as these he would frequently come across the ravenstag, taking comfort in the great beast’s aura of calm, laying his head against its feathered fur to absorb its heat, the rhythm of its steady breaths. He wondered if the witch perhaps orchestrated these meetings, as a means of keeping an eye on Will while he was out of sight. But he found he did not mind the idea of Hannibal worrying about him, so long as he did not try to curtail his movements. And Hannibal, to Will's surprise and gratitude, never tried to follow or stop him, instead seeming to understand Will's need for solitude and trusting that he would return eventually.

Then slowly, the witch began to suggest techniques Will might practice in order to control the intrusion of emotions. He gave Will grounding exercises, told him to repeat his name, the time and where he was in order to keep hold of his sense of self. He insisted Will should think carefully about his own feelings and desires, in addition to their shared discussions, saying that it was essential to know his own mind in order to keep hold of it in the face of another’s. Gradually he began to challenge Will more on his beliefs and opinions, forcing Will to shore up the foundations of his identity, feeling out the edges and boundaries of his own self. Will was not sure what good it would do to practice this when there was no one to practice on – neither Will nor Freddie wanted him to gain that much access to her mind – but he did so anyway, trying not to allow hope to build within him and failing every time Hannibal praised his efforts.

Occasionally, when Will seemed to be making particularly good progress, the witch would place a hand on his arm in approval. Once he had even cupped Will’s cheek, just for a moment, and Will, who had rarely been touched with affection in his life, tried hard not to feel hope at that, too.

Freddie’s new life was not so pleasant as Will’s. As soon as they had agreed to Hannibal's terms, a fine gold chain had snaked its way around her ankle, moving under Hannibal's sway. Freddie had objected at the top of her voice but the witch had calmly explained that the chain was only to keep her bound to her promise and the house. Like Will, she could go wherever she pleased within the house and grounds, with the exception of the slaughter room and Hannibal's own bedchamber, both of which rules were, the witch explained with a wink, to protect her from the horrible sights within.

Will had nearly choked as his imagination filled in its own suggestions.

So while Will consumed the contents of Hannibal's library and answered the witch’s questions, Freddie scrubbed floors until her fingers were raw, cleaned fireplaces while choking on soot, and swept floors until her back ached. She came to the dining room exhausted, often on the brink of sleep, and ate in silence before retiring to her room. Will supposed he ought to feel sorry for her, but found that the memory of his years spent labouring for Jack while Freddie was allowed to spend her time in idle gossip and flirtation, left only a dull satisfaction at their trade in circumstances.

Still, had she asked him for help, for conversation or entertainment, he would have done his best to provide. She never did, though, and Will could feel her resentment of him grow, the angry tendrils of it disrupting his concentration at every turn. She was suspicious of Will’s relationship with Hannibal, aware of their comfort and intimacy, unsure of what it meant. She spied on them, he knew, using her chores as guise to cloak furtive glances and eavesdropping. He suspected she was going through the house, checking for anything that might give her leverage over the witch, might force him to forgive her debt and let her go.

Beneath it all, Will could sense her fear: of never being set free, of being controlled or damaged by the witch. Of Will.

He wanted to reassure her, to tell her that neither he, nor Hannibal would harm her in any way.

He just wasn't sure it was true.

***

On a few occasions, Will found Hannibal sitting in silence, his eyes closed, and so utterly motionless that it had frightened the young man the first time it happened. He had thrown himself at the seated witch, shaking at his shoulders and calling his name in panic. One very long second later, Hannibal had opened his eyes and gazed in amusement as Will panted with relief.

“I was worried…” Will had muttered, unable to complete the words out of embarrassment at his overreaction. For a moment, though, he had thought perhaps the witch was dead, and his heart had shuddered for it.

Hannibal’s lips twitched into a smile and he smoothed a hand down Will’s arm. “Do not concern yourself with my well-being, Will. Witches live a very long time – and we think very deeply, so that we can wander our minds for hours and never get bored. I am quite well, I assure you.”

Will accepted this with relief (though he couldn't help but wonder how old the witch actually was – evidently not the forty-something years Will had guessed at) and said no more about it then. However, he found himself watching, intrigued, whenever Hannibal retreated into his mind, fascinated by the serenity on that face of which Will had grown so fond. Eventually he mustered his courage enough to ask what Hannibal saw behind his closed eyes.

“Shall I tell you all my secrets, Will?” the witch asked.

Will hesitated, wondering if he had gone too far, but there was something in Hannibal's voice that convinced him to keep going. “I think you want to tell me this one, otherwise you wouldn't have let me see you like that. You've just been waiting to see if I would ask.”

Hannibal raised a brow and scrutinised him, before allowing a smile to flash between them. “You really are quite brilliant, dear Will.”

Will was certain he had never blushed so hard in his life.

“You are quite correct, my mind palace is something I have greatly wished to share with you,” the witch continued.

“Your…” Will trailed off, confused.

“Mind palace. It is a mnemonic device, in which one constructs a space in one's mind, filled with all the details of their life, from which they can be easily retrieved or even relived. My palace is vast, its chambers ever-expanding, every experience, every face and fact accounted for and at my disposal. This is something I believe may be of use to you too, Will. Perhaps not as an aid to memory, but as a means of protection.”

“Less of a palace and more of a fort?” Will asked.

Hannibal smiled, looking proud of his companion’s insight. “Indeed. Though nothing so literal, as I suspect your mind is not a place suited to rigid structures. Tell me, Will, if I ask you to close your eyes and think of somewhere that speaks of safety to you, what is that place?”

It wasn't a difficult question. All his life, at least before coming to Hannibal's house, Will had found peace in only one place. He closed his eyes and spoke: “I see a forest, cool, dark and green. Nothing but the quiet noises of animals and the rustle of leaves.”

“No voices on the wind?”

“Only the sound of my breathing.”

Will was certain the witch was smiling – though he kept his eyes closed, he could hear it as Hannibal spoke. “Good. Then that is where you must go when you feel yourself slipping. Fill this forest with everything of yourself, so that you may reach for it when you are lost.”

“Shall I put you in there, too?”

“If you like.”

Will opened his eyes and looked at the witch. “Am I in your palace?” he asked.

Hannibal just smiled.

***

By Will’s count they had been living with Hannibal for nearly four months when he walked into the study to be confronted by the sight of a strange man sitting in his chair. He hung back in the doorway as he watched Hannibal lean over the man, speaking softly to him in words that Will could not catch. The stranger was pale and cadaverous, with receding hair, a light, neatly trimmed beard, and dirt under his fingernails. His clothes were utilitarian, made for outdoor work, and Will wondered if perhaps he was a groundskeeper, though he would be the first servant Will had known Hannibal to employ.

After a few moments, Will noticed that the man did not respond to anything Hannibal said to him. Indeed, he had not moved his body the slightest inch the whole time Will had been watching, and it came to the young man that Hannibal was holding his guest in place, stifling his voice as he once had Freddie's, and deadening his limbs against escape. Unable to hold back his curiosity any longer, Will entered the room and moved towards Hannibal in search of an explanation.

“Ah, Will,” Hannibal looked up, pleased at his approach, “please allow me to introduce my friend, Mr Garret Jacob Hobbs. Mr Hobbs is a hunter by trade – we have an agreement that he may hunt in my woods, so long as he brings me the occasional trophy in order to break up the tedium of cooking my pigs.”

Will glanced sceptically between the two men. Hobbs was clearly no friend of Hannibal’s – if his uncouth appearance did not dispel that notion, then the waves of fear and resentment Will could feel shuddering through the man certainly did.

“Why are you lying to me?” Will asked Hannibal, not with resentment in his tone, but curiosity. The witch knew him too well by now to believe he would not see through this.

And, indeed, Hannibal looked proud as he responded, “To ascertain whether you would be more comfortable allowing a lie than confronting the truth.”

Will moved a little closer, narrowing his eyes at the witch. “You were testing me?”

Hannibal bowed his head in agreement, a soft smile brushing his lips. “And you passed, dearest Will, just as I believed you would.”

Will felt a flutter inside at that, both the praise and the endearment. Part of him, such a big part, wanted him to tell Hannibal to dismiss Hobbs, to lock the door behind him and contract the world back down to just the two of them, a strange boy and his witch.

But Hannibal had brought this man into the sanctity of their space for a reason and Will was gripped with the need to understand what it was.

“What is he here for? Why are you holding him?” Will asked, turning to examine the man beneath them.

“He is here for you, Will,” Hannibal responded, smiling at the quizzical expression that he received in response. “I believe we have reached the point at which I can test my theory about the provenance of your gift. It is time I keep my promise to you. You have become strong in yourself Will, now we must find out whether you can use that strength to control what I believe is your innate capacity for magic.”

The witch looked pleased with his revelation, and eager to begin, but Will found himself stung at the idea that they had reached some end point and he had not noticed. “And after? Will you be finished with me? No more mystery to solve, no more unexplained curiosities lurking inside my head?” Will couldn’t help the bitter tone in his voice.

Something wistful crossed Hannibal’s face at the questions. “It has always been your choice whether to go or remain here, Will. It always will be your choice. But I do not believe for a moment that I could ever be rid of my fascination with you. If you choose to stay, I would have it be forever.”

Will’s mind stuttered and his heart skipped. “I… I…” His voice failed him, as much unable to cope with the weight of Hannibal’s desires as the rest of him.

The witch took mercy on him and placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “Do not worry yourself, Will, there will be time after for all that. As much as you wish. But before you make such a decision, it would be wise for you to know all of yourself, as we have been striving for. And, in any case, to keep our guest waiting would be unspeakably rude.” He gestured towards Hobbs with a smirk, and Will turned towards the static, seated man, grateful beyond measure for Hannibal’s understanding.

“What should I do?” he asked, feeling uncertain of his ability for the first time.

“Just as you have always done Will,” Hannibal told him, taking a step to the side to give Will space. “But this time, as you feel him, you will _know_ yourself.”

“Will you stay with me?” Will asked, a little tremulous.

“My love, where else would I go?”

The words, so freely and easily given, reassured Will, and he turned to Hobbs, determination building within him. His entire life, he had longed for this moment, to understand why the door to his mind lay breached and unsealable, and though he did not know whether he would prefer for Hannibal to be right or wrong, he knew what he said was true. It was time to find out.

Will took a deep breath, and spoke out loud: “My name is Will, it is late in the afternoon, and Hannibal is with me.”

And then he was ready.

He looked into Hobbs’ pale eyes and felt the man’s fear and hatred, already prickling at him, suddenly spike and stab at his mind. And beyond that, a spreading, jealous, poisonous ¬need to possess, to own and control. Garret Jacob Hobbs loved something… _someone_ , with such all-consuming greed that it had unbalanced his very soul, crawling unrestrained to drive him to madness and murder.

It was thick and scabrous in Will’s mind, catching at him like a thicket of brambles on bare skin, tugging and clutching as he tried to distinguish himself from the thorns of Hobbs’ heart. He tried to think of his forest, of the dappled light and soft animal noises, but he could gain no purchase, the dark, creeping roots of Hobbs’ soul clambering his trees, wrapping themselves tight around their trunks and breaking branches with a noise that echoed the sound of Jack’s spine snapping.

This wasn’t going to work, Will panicked, he was going to be consumed.

He did the only thing he could think of.

“Hannibal,” Will gasped, stretching out a hand for the witch, “I need to… please, I need to hold onto you.”

Wordless, Hannibal took Will’s hand in his, and the young man let himself feel the calm blankness of the witch ground him, anchoring him in himself. As he did, he felt the clutch of his feelings for Hannibal as clearly as the fingers that wove between his, and, behind his eyes he saw the ravenstag cross into his path, as it had on the day of Jack and Bedelia’s deaths. Will knew instinctively that it was there to rescue him once again, and ran towards it, following as it turned and ran ahead, eyes trained on its huge and gleaming form. As he ran, Will felt the dark tendrils of Hobbs’ mind surge in his wake, forcing him to keep moving, even as his breath seemed to catch and burn in his throat.

He felt one snatch at his ankle and, terrified, threw himself forward…

…and found himself lying at the ravenstag's hooves, with the sky open above him and nothing clawing at his limbs. He looked up at the beast, which caught his eye and then angled its head away, causing Will to look out at his surroundings.

He was in Hannibal's grounds, he realised, the soft roll of green hills giving to the well-ordered fields of crops and the pig-pens below. And beyond that, the great house stood, its windows warm with light, the scent of cooking and the soft sound of music flowing from it. Looking at it, Will knew this was the safe place he had been searching for. He knew this was how he could find his way back to himself. This, and Hannibal's sure grip on his hand.

Will came back to the study, then, finding himself still standing in front of Hobbs, with Hannibal steady at his side, their hands clasped together. He could do this now, he knew, his anchor would not fail.

Held fast, Will forced himself to keep looking and was dimly aware of Hannibal's gasp as he drove further into the coruscating fibres of Hobbs’ mind. Something was flickering into life all around them but all Will could focus on was the twisted satisfaction that thrummed through Hobbs and into him, each time a new girl was taken. He thought it was noble, that he was honouring them and saving his precious daughter all with the same cruel twist of a blade.

So many people in the world who didn't deserve their lives, and this man took what was precious and pure and snuffed it out so he could sleep peacefully through the night.

When Will’s fist connected, without conscious thought or effort, it felt like the fragments of his mind started to pull back together. _Clarity of purpose_ , he thought wildly, and struck Hobbs again, a bloody split staining the foul man’s silenced mouth. Over and over Will beat down cruelly, causing bones to crack and bruises to rise as Hobbs sat, eerily docile and accepting of whatever punishment Will gave, Hannibal's spell forcing his obedience.

As if from far away, Hannibal's voice drifted into his mind.

“Will, do you see?”

With a wrench, Will pulled himself off Hobbs and lifted his head. He staggered backwards and turned in place, not knowing how what he saw was possible.

A golden light encircled them, like a wide band of gauzy fabric, and within it flickered the same images Will had seen within Hobbs’ mind. Scenes of him murdering the same dark-haired girls, over and over. Of him butchering their flesh and serving it to his family. Of him embracing his daughter, so clearly the mould from which the others were cast.

And in the centre of it all, directly in front of Hobbs, a moment that glowed so brightly it almost hurt to behold it: Hobbs clutching his daughter, slitting her throat in a wide, brutal arc, his wife already dead at his feet. The girl had wanted to leave, after everything he had done for her, and the betrayal was not to be borne. He had claimed what he could of her, in blood and violence, and left the rest to shudder to a stop on the floor of the home she would never leave.

  
  


Will gasped for breath and reached for Hannibal. “You can see?” he pleaded.

Hannibal pulled him into his arms and said, “I see. I see it all, Will. You've shown him to me.”

“I felt… I felt everything. _All_ of him. And I had to… Someone needed to stop him, hurt him back.”

Hannibal spoke in soothing tones, “Hush, darling, I have you, you are here, you are still yourself–”

He broke off as Will pushed out of his embrace and the golden light faded from the air.

“ _I know_ ,” the young man hissed. “It worked, Hannibal. It worked perfectly. I felt him but I was the one in control. I hit him because _I_ wanted to. _I_ wanted to kill him.”

Something dark gleamed in Hannibal's eyes and Will realised that the witch was pleased by his confession. He stalked towards Will and asked, “And how did that make you feel?”

Will knew, as he had known that first day in front of the house, that he ought to run from this man, as far and as fast as possible. Instead he drew forward to meet Hannibal in the centre of the room and told him, “I felt powerful. Righteous. Just.”

Hannibal nodded, just once, his lips curling with pleasure. “You've discovered a truth about yourself. That doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good.”

Will raised his eyes from Hannibal's mouth to hold his gaze with unblinking certainty. “Yes. Does it feel good to you?”

“I don't necessarily share your parameters.” Hannibal’s voice was mild, matter-of fact, yet his eyes danced, betraying his delight. “But relatively speaking, yes.”

Will couldn't help but take another step forward, needing to be see every detail of the witch's expression as he asked his next question. “Did you know what he was?”

“I told you, Will,” Hannibal answered, leaning in close to whisper in his ear, “I know everything that happens in my forest.”

Will thought of asking why Hannibal hadn't killed the man himself, but he already knew the answer. Killing Hobbs would have served no purpose for Hannibal – the man caused him no harm, and the girls he killed were of no consequence to the witch. Hannibal was not driven by emotion, by greed or hatred or selfish passion, but by cool logic and a desire to shape the world to his own standards. Only when Will had appeared did Hobbs’ death become something from which Hannibal might benefit.

“Did you bring him here for me to kill?” Will asked, his voice soft, and his heart racing as he felt the heat of Hannibal's body, not yet touching his own, but so, so close.

“Not necessarily.” The witch leaned back slightly, enough so that he could meet Will’s eyes as he said, “I was merely curious to see what would happen.”

Will breathed the ghost of a laugh, amused by Hannibal's conceit. “And were you satisfied with the result?”

“More than. You were magnificent, Will,” Hannibal said, and curled his long fingers around the nape of Will's neck, resting at the base of his skull. Will felt the power there and knew that Hannibal wouldn't even have to call on his magic to end his life; he could snap Will’s neck in his bare hands now and Will would have no means of escape. Yet he felt no fear and instead leaned into the witch, breathing his scent that was like a cool, clear stream. Everything about Hannibal was clean, clear and uncomplicated. To Will, he was the simplest, most effortless thing in the world.

He raised his eyes to the witch, first to the red curve of his mouth, and then up to the dark eyes that flashed but did not strike, did not lash Will with unbidden pain. They merely regarded Will with warmth that was turning to heat, waiting for whatever Will chose to do next.

This is what Will chose: to lean in and press a kiss to the corner of the witch's mouth. To listen as Hannibal's breath hitched and then kiss him again, full and sweet. To stand back, only to be pulled in and feel the slide of Hannibal’s lips against his own, the swell and breach of his tongue into his mouth, the heat of their bodies merging as they clutched and swayed together.

Eventually, reluctantly, Will broke free to gasp, “Forever? You would have me forever?”

“You and nothing but you, for the whole of my life,” Hannibal responded, his voice throaty but his gaze unwavering. “I do not say that lightly, Will; I told you before, magical beings such as you and I live a very long time. In almost three hundred years I have never met anyone I wanted to spend it with, before you.”

“You're three… three hundred years old?” Will stared at the impossible man before him.

“Two hundred and nighty-four, to be precise. Does that change anything for you?” Hannibal asked, and Will could feel his body tense slightly. That Hannibal might feel anxious at the thought of rejection immediately caused Will to relax.

He pressed himself tighter into the witch’s arms and answered, “Not especially. Will I live to be as ancient as all that?” He grinned up at Hannibal, teasing, and received a light smack on his ass for his trouble.

“In fact I am fairly young for a witch. The oldest recorded lived well past a thousand and only died due to an unfortunate incident with her stepdaughter and a rabble of ill-mannered dwarves.” Hannibal gazed fondly at Will, adding, “And I see no reason to think you should not attain similar longevity.”

“What about Freddie?” Will asked, hating that he had to consider her in this.

Hannibal paused, taking his eyes off Will for the first time since he had entered the room, and seemed to compose his next words carefully. “I have no need, nor desire for her to stay any longer. Indeed, I must confess,” the witch smiled – almost bashfully, Will thought – “my insistence that Freddie pay her debt may have had more to do with convincing you to stay than getting my pound of flesh out of your sister.”

Will couldn’t resist the grin that tugged at his lips. “Did you really find me that interesting so quickly?”

Hannibal brushed a curl from Will’s forehead and replaced it with a kiss. “From the second you stood in front of me, bold and completely unafraid, and declared me a witch. To be seen so clearly is a powerful thing, my love – you instantly etched yourself into my very core. Standing there, you looked like my future, beautiful and bright and, oh yes, so very, very interesting.”

It was too much. Will cut him off with another kiss, clutching desperately at his clothing, trying to convey both how much he cared for Hannibal and how utterly unable he was to deal with the depth of the witch’s feelings, or his own. Hannibal smoothed his hands down Will’s back, soothing, trying to bring him down from the joyful panic that gripped him. He pulled away from the kiss and placed a steadying hand on Will’s cheek.

“You need time, darling boy. Today has been full of momentous experiences, from which it will take time to recover. I must insist that you rest and take the proper time to come to terms with what has unfolded. Only then should you give me your answer.” Hannibal smiled at Will, stroking his thumb against his cheek, and added, “Besides, there are matters to which I must attend.”

They turned as one to look at Hobbs.

“Is he dead?” Will asked.

“No,” Hannibal frowned at this, his head tilting in consideration. “Perhaps he should be but for now he still lives.”

Slowly, deliberately, Will turned his eyes back to Hannibal's. “For now.”

“Yes.”

“Are you…” Will took a deep breath, a knot in his stomach, though from excitement or fear he did not know. “Are you going to put him with the others, in the pen?”

Hannibal, for once, looked genuinely surprised, and his voice was charged when he said, “My brilliant Will. Are you asking if I am going to change Mr Hobbs?”

Will lifted his chin, presenting Hannibal with raised eyebrows and a wry expression. “I'm asking if he's going to end up as bacon.”

The witch let out a huff of laughter and pressed his forehead to Will’s. “Only if you think he deserves to.”

The words should have been harder to say, should have required more consideration. Will held a man’s life in his hands, albeit via proxy. But with the steady presence of Hannibal pressed close to him, Will felt no hesitation. “I do.”

He could feel the satisfaction vibrate from Hannibal's very core. “In that case, Garret will indeed take his place at our dinner table.”

Will knew the smile on Hannibal's face was a match for his own. “Good.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork by [@theartofjeremyk](http://theartofjeremyk.tumblr.com/). Thank you for your hard work and for being so patient with me.
> 
> Thanks also to the unbelievebly wonderful HotMolasses, without whom I would never have made it through this story. I love you, my lovely friend <3

Will had known, from the second he saw Hannibal's house in his mind palace, that he would never leave the witch. For all his life, or at least all that he could remember, he had been part of a so-called family, but he had never before found a home. Hannibal had shown him that family was not made of flesh and blood, or signatures on paper, any more than houses were built of gingerbread. The witch had given him acceptance, understanding and love, the likes of which only Bella, so long dead now, had ever shown him before. He had left the study without giving Hannibal an answer only because, when he did give it, he wanted the witch to know how sincerely Will wanted to stay with him, to make this their home in name as well as sentiment.  
  
So he climbed the stairs to his room, meaning to rest for a while before returning to Hannibal to declare himself. Yet he found he could not settle, despite the plush bedding which usually served to quickly lull him to sleep. Thoughts of Hannibal's lips, his breath hot against Will’s skin, his strong hands brushing down his back, kept thronging in his mind, mixing with breathless excitement at the revelation of his magical nature. A thousand years, and more, Hannibal had said. Once, the thought of living so long, while invasive, unwanted emotions battered at his fragile mind and lonely existence, would have caused Will to recoil in horror. But Hannibal had saved him from that.  
  
A thousand years to spend with this man who had saved him, and who saw him and wanted to keep him. How could Will sleep with all that within his grasp?  
  
After around half an hour of restless fidgeting, it occurred to Will that he might sleep better somewhere he could feel closer to Hannibal. He rose from his bed and padded down the hallway towards the witch’s room. After all, he reasoned, unless he had very much misunderstood the tone of what had passed between them in the study, it would soon be his bedroom too. Will couldn't help but grin at the thought, his stomach flipping with nervous, yet pleasant anticipation at the thought of lying with Hannibal, sharing his heat and the touch of his skin. It was hardly the kind of story imagined by little children, the wicked witch and the village freak falling in love, but Will could not think of any ending that would make him happier.  
  
So it was with a joyful heart that he entered Hannibal's bedroom for the first time, gazing enraptured at the elegant furnishings, the deep cobalt walls, the strange and eclectic art that lined them. What most drew his eye, though, was the pile of papers lying on a side table, neatly stacked and tied together with crimson ribbon. Will recognised them instantly as Hannibal’s drawings and felt it would not be an imposition for him to look them over; the witch had often allowed Will to view his sketches, generally of great buildings from foreign lands, or anonymous figures whose identities Will had never desired to question. One or two had been studies of the ravenstag, and those Will had loved so much that Hannibal had gifted him one, which now hung in his bedroom and which filled Will with warmth whenever he glimpsed it.  
  
He lifted the stack and instantly blushed at the sight of his own face, rendered with such detail and beauty that Will could barely believe this could be how Hannibal saw him. If he had still possessed any doubts on the witch’s true feelings for him, this sketch dispelled them for good: it was beyond question that the artist was infatuated with, enchanted by, devoted to his subject. And given the look in picture-Will’s eyes as he gazed out from the paper, those feelings were unmistakably requited.  
  
Reverently, fearful of damaging in any way this physical proof of Hannibal’s love for him, Will untied the ribbon and lifted the top sketch, to reveal a second image of himself, this time with his eyes closed and deep in concentration, settled in his chair in Hannibal’s study. Will’s body language in the picture suggested that he was inside his mind palace, and he wondered if Hannibal had sketched him while Will’s mind was elsewhere. He supposed he ought to feel strange or embarrassed about that, but could not conjure any reaction other than to smile stupidly over the thought of Hannibal, spontaneously compelled to capture his likeness as he worked. As he leafed through the next few sketches, his smile widened until it threatened to split his face in two. All of the sketches were of him, every last one.  
  
Will settled on the huge, luxurious bed and gazed at each of the pictures in turn. There were images of him working in the kitchen, reading in the study, walking with the ravenstag in the grounds. Pictures of him looking serious and scholarly, others of him smiling, relaxed, laughing with his head thrown back with such joy that Will hardly recognised himself. There was even one of him throwing an especially dark look at Freddie’s retreating back. Will suspected Hannibal had particularly enjoyed drawing that one, given the way the pencil had bitten deeply into the paper, giving a powerful, threatening feel to Will’s countenance.  
  
Will had not thought it possible for him to feel closer to the witch than he had at the moment they had kissed, yet, looking through this record of his life in Hannibal’s home, Will felt more bound to the man with every new image. So relaxed and happy was he, that his eyelids began to droop and he considered setting the drawings aside so that he might finally sleep a little while. But as he turned to the next sketch, all thoughts of sleep flew from his mind. In it, Will was not dressed in the well-made, comfortable clothing that Hannibal had insisted on providing. Instead, he was in his ragged, scratchy work clothes, sitting on the stump of a tree as he fed crumbs to a fox lying at his feet.  
  
He might have thought it some coincidentally accurate imagining of Hannibal’s and dismissed it as perfectly innocent. Except that Will recognised his vulpine companion’s markings: it was Winston, the fox he had befriended back home.  
  
Hannibal could not have simply imagined Winston out of thin air.  
  
Hannibal had known of Will before Will had ever come anywhere near his house.  
  
He looked hurriedly through the rest of the drawings, scattering them around the bed in his rush. As they fell around him, the pictured Wills grew younger and younger, from a young man down to an adolescent, back to when he was barely more than a child and Jack had begun taking him into the woods to learn his trade.  
  
_I know everything that happens in my forest._  
  
Will had caught the witch’s attention from the moment he had begun to spend most of his time in the woods, his presence in Hannibal’s territory drawing the man’s eye and, for some reason, holding it for years. Will could not understand what the witch had seen to interest him so greatly, though as he looked again at the images, he could divine at least one reason from those depicting his later years. While the sketches had begun innocently enough, Will could see when their tone had changed, as he came of age and began to look a man in his own right. Before, the drawings had depicted entire scenes, with Will only one element amongst the trees and animals, but in later years, he had become their sole focus. The curl of his lips, the set of his shoulders, the muscles he had developed and the way they strained and shifted as he worked. He could taste Hannibal’s desire on his tongue and realised, his stomach flipping, that he was not ashamed or offended by it. He was pleased, pleased to be the object of such focused attention, flattered that the witch had seen him from afar and wanted him so passionately. Hannibal had waited so long for him, had never forced their meeting or tried to take Will from his home, but had waited until Will needed him, until Will was ready to take control of his life.  
  
There were but a few pictures left now and Will knew with thrilling certainty what they depicted. Sure enough, as he turned to a new page, he saw himself marking a tree with his blade, Jack, Bedelia and Freddie a ways off ahead of him in the distance. On another, he was reluctantly passing his knife to Bedelia. Then sharing a fathomless look with the ravenstag. Hannibal had been watching them that day, watching as Will’s life had been threatened. And, Will knew beyond a doubt, Hannibal had sent the ravenstag to protect him, and to finally bring him to the witch’s door where his safety could be assured.  
  
He looked back across the scattered drawings, feeling more loved and cherished than he had ever imagined possible. Some people might have been frightened, Will reflected, to find that a witch had been watching over them as they went about their lives. Will, though, the boy who had been shunned and neglected his entire life, only found himself falling more deeply in love with Hannibal. He curled himself atop the warm, soft bedding, surrounded by the images of his life seen through Hannibal’s eyes, and drifted to sleep, hoping that perhaps the witch would soon join him, and continue what they had started downstairs.  
  
Sadly, though, it was not Hannibal’s tender hands that roused Will sometime later. Instead, it was sharp nails clutching at his shoulders, shaking him roughly into consciousness.  
  
Freddie. Freddie was in Hannibal's room, from which she had been expressly forbidden, most likely so that she wouldn't stumble over these drawings as Will had. Freddie had seen him, spilled across the witch’s sheets in easy repose, surrounded by lovingly-rendered images of himself… and judging by the sneer on her pinched little face, she had drawn her own conclusions about _that_.  
  
“I knew there was something strange going on with you two,” she hissed. “I had no idea you'd sunk this low, though.”  
  
Irritated by her clear distaste, but relieved that it seemed to have kept her from examining the drawings too closely, Will pushed Freddie's hands away and sat up, trying to get his bearings. There was something off about his sister but his sleep-fogged mind could not yet grasp it. It had been weeks since she had been anywhere near him and Will was not looking forward to being struck by the flood of Freddie's toxic emotions.  
  
Except they did not come. He could not feel anything at all of Freddie's mind. Where normally resentment and irritation would batter him like a crashing wave whenever he was in his sister's presence, now all Will felt was his own growing joy and excitement. He was alone in his own mind, for the first time in his life, and it was glorious.  
  
_Hannibal_. Will was struck with the need to tell the witch of this new success as soon as possible. He bounced off the bed, trying to decide which he should tell Hannibal first – this, or his decision to stay with the witch – unable to keep the grin from his face and utterly ignoring Freddie’s protests. If she wanted his attention now, after so many weeks of silence, she would only get it _after_ he’d secured his future happiness.  
  
So he pushed past her out of the bedroom and bounded down the stairs towards the kitchen, from which came the sounds of Hannibal preparing their evening meal. In his joyful anticipation, he was only barely aware of Freddie at his heels, still shouting for Will’s attention. Perhaps it was just as well she was here for this, he thought giddily, so that she would know exactly what he and Hannibal had become to each other. Perhaps then she would back off whatever plan she had to undermine the witch.  
  
Unfortunately, his sister’s next words caused all Will’s hopes to shatter even as he crossed the kitchen towards the man he loved.  
  
“ _Will,_ ” Freddie screamed, “ _the pigs are people!_ ”  
  
Will was brought up short, coming to a halt still some distance from Hannibal. The witch was illuminated by the glow of his great oven, the door to which stood open, waiting to swallow the roasting pan that rested on the bench in front of Will, who could not take his eyes off its contents.  
  
A pig’s head, whole and unlovely, stared back at him.  
  
“I saw him, Will,” Freddie spat from behind him, “he had some man out in the pen with him, and then he waved his hand and he… he _changed_ that poor man into a pig! That’s how he has so many… he’s been…” Freddie trailed off, sounding sickened. Then she rallied and her voice rang out, “He'll kill us too. He's just been playing with us, fattening us up until we’re too slow and too spoiled to escape. Just because you're his pet, don't think he'll spare you.”  
  
Something in that word, _pet_ , struck at Will with a pain he did not expect. He knew Freddie's words were nonsense, that he meant more to Hannibal than her narrow and selfish mind could comprehend. He had read the desire, the _ache_ in those drawings, had felt the pleasure Hannibal took in his company, the clutching need as they embraced.  
  
And yet.  
  
He dragged his eyes from the pig to meet those of the witch, his mind beset by questions. What would have happened if he had asked Hannibal to set Hobbs free? If he hadn't shared the witch’s… proclivities? What if he chose to deny himself, if he refused to delight in death the way that Hannibal did?  
  
“You’ve been watching me for a long time, Hannibal,” Will said, watching the witch closely.  
  
A flicker of pleasure laced with defiance passed across Hannibal’s face. He confirmed Will’s words with a minute tilt of his head, and added, “You found my drawings then.”  
  
“Yes. Almost my whole life, captured by your hand.” Will shook his head and looked up at the witch, pleadingly. “What was it about me? What could you possibly have seen?”  
  
Hannibal spread his hands, the gesture meant to imply openness. “Raw potential, in danger of going to waste,” he said, matter of fact, as if the answer should have been obvious.  
  
Will was not so easily fooled, “I don't believe that’s all, Hannibal.”  
  
“Oh?” A smirk, fond and anticipatory, pleased beyond measure by Will’s challenge.  
  
Will shook his head, demanding, “Don't lie to me, don't give me half-truths and obfuscations dressed up as poetry.” If Hannibal wished to be baited, Will would happily provide the lure. “I have an answer for you, but you're going to have to earn it by letting me see you, know you, completely.”  
  
“My Will,” and now the smirk softened and melted into pride and delight. “As if you do not already.”  
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“Connection. My life has been long and full, but until you found your way into my forest, I did not know how very lonely it had been. I saw in you the possibility for friendship, for someone who might share my worldview, whose power might complement my own. And then you grew so lovely, every bit as alone as I was, Will. I found myself helpless, aching for your presence, longing to know if you would reciprocate this unshakeable fascination that lived within me.” He smiled, a soft, hopeful thing, only its edges cracking slightly with tension. “You could never be a mere _pet_ , Will, not to me, though I believe I would be happy to spend the rest of my life being yours.”  
  
Will gazed at him for a long moment, considering whether this _fascination_ , more of an obsession, really, was something he could allow, let alone share in.  
  
And then, without a word to Hannibal, he turned to Freddie, his voice steady and assured as he spoke his next words to her.  
  
“I know. About the pigs. I always have.”  
  
Will suspected even Hannibal was surprised by this, by Will having known for quite so long, the witch giving out the faintest huff of pleasure at his confession.  
  
Freddie, meanwhile, looked stunned, snapping, “What do you mean, always?”  
  
“Since the very first time he showed them to us.” Will looked out the window towards the pen, gesturing at its inhabitants. “Their minds are still active in there, they just aren’t in control. I could still feel their emotions, even locked away inside false bodies.”  
  
Freddie gaped in astonished disgust. “And you stayed? You let _me_ stay? You let me be his slave?”  
  
“What choice did I have?” Will snapped, his features twisting with irritation. “We had nowhere to go, and I thought… I thought he’d find me interesting enough to keep us around. And I thought if I could learn to control my ability, I’d be able to take care of us, back out in the world. Except now, I don’t want to go back to the world, I want to stay here, with him.” He looked back at Hannibal, who wore an expression split between astonishment and joy. “That is my decision,” he told the witch, “considered thoroughly and given happily, because I love you.”  
  
Hannibal smiled truly then, an openness coming to his face that Will had not yet seen there. He opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by Freddie’s outraged shriek.  
  
“How can you be ok with this? How can you love that monster? He _kills_ people. He fed them to us!”  
  
Will considered this. He had asked himself much the same question that first day, standing in the pig pen and sensing the trapped fury and fear of a dozen imprisoned minds. He had waited for some feeling of terror or disgust to arise, but it never did. Instead, as Hannibal had increasingly encouraged Will to look inside himself, to confront the depths of his mind, a truth had become clear to him. One which he felt an odd relief in telling his sister now: “I never did find much to love in other people. There are very few whose minds don't howl with pettiness and cruelty, of this I am more certain than anyone ought to be. The world isn’t a worse place for Hannibal taking some of them out of it. It’s just a quieter one.”  
  
Freddie looked horrified at the matter-of-fact way Will had spoken these words. Then her eyes narrowed and she asked, “So what about me? He’s not just going to let me go, is he?”  
  
“He promised me he would,” Will said, lifting his chin in defiance.  
  
Freddie’s brows raised at this, and a calculating look passed across her features. In a softer voice, edged with hope, she asked, “And you believe him?”  
  
Will nodded, her change in demeanour giving him a flash of belief that this situation might turn out favourably after all. “He’s never given me any reason not to.”  
  
At this, Hannibal moved away from the oven, coming to stand behind Will and turning him gently so that they were facing. “I meant what I said to you, Will, I will not harm your sister if you do not wish it. Moreover, I will allow her safe passage to any place she may wish – the ravenstag will take her through the forest, and I promise that she will emerge unharmed. But,” and here the witch’s voice grew deeper, dark with the import of what he said next, “first you must ask yourself if you trust her not to bring harm to our doorstep. And if not,” he took Will’s hand and kissed his knuckles lightly, “what is to be done about that?”  
  
Will looked up at Hannibal, into the only set of eyes that had never caused him pain. Something inside, some remnant of the boy who had believed the bonds of family to be worth something, wanted to trust his sister, to believe that, for all their animosity, she would never truly wish him harm. And then, under the weight of Hannibal’s devotion, that part flickered and died, leaving him only with the awareness that indeed he did not have any trust in Freddie, nor any knowledge of her intentions.  
  
He turned and stepped towards his sister. “Freddie, I need you to look at me.”  
  
“What? Why?” Freddie's eyes, their blue the only resemblance she'd ever had to her brother, darted in every direction but his.  
  
“Hannibal has never given me a reason to mistrust him. You've never given me a reason not to. So if you want my help, you need to let me see you, like he lets me see him.”  
  
Freddie's jaw worked, but she said nothing and lowered her eyes to the floor.  
  
Will nodded. Without looking, he reached a hand back to Hannibal and when the witch caught it, Will pulled him in to press against his back. “Help me to see?”  
  
Strong arms encircled his waist and Will felt his skin warm as Hannibal leaned in to whisper, “Always.”  
  
Freddie was already running for the door when Hannibal lifted his hand. She froze, mid-step, saved from falling only by the tug of the golden chain that wrapped around her waist to keep her upright, and then dragged her back to the centre of the room. Slowly, inch by bitterly resented inch, her head was raised by Hannibal's power until her gaze was level with Will’s.  
  
Apparently Hannibal had left her the use of her tongue, because as their eyes met, she hissed, “I always knew you were a freak.”  
  
And then she was silenced, and Will could only smile sadly as he looked at her truly, for the first time in weeks. Perhaps for the first time ever.  
  
Will looked, and golden light flooded the kitchen, not an uncertain flicker into life as it had been with Hobbs, but a vibrant burst of colour and movement, Freddie's curls seeming to burn bronze beneath it as she gaped, staggered and fearful, at the sign of her brother’s power. Within, smaller versions of her could be seen emerging from the forest... stopping to rip her clothes and scratch her flesh… staggering to the nearest house and claiming an evil witch and his demon lover had killed her parents and tried to eat her…  
  
…rounding up a mob and bringing them back to Hannibal's home…  
  
…watching with satisfaction, thinking of the riches inside the house and how well she would live on their proceeds, as her brother and his love were captured, tied to a stake, and burned to agonising death.  
  
Of course, Will reflected, as he watched the flames lick at the image of their bodies and the smile on the projected face of his sister, it was highly unlikely that Freddie would ever have managed to enact such a scheme. Even if she could have convinced anyone of her story, even if she had made her way back to the house without the ravenstag's guidance, she would still have been faced by a very angry, very powerful witch.  
  
Still, with her heart of hearts glowing bright and clear before them, Will knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that what burned inside Freddie was a threat to everything he had come to hold dear.  
  
And, after all, she had wanted to kill him first.  
  
The light faded from around them. “Thank you, sister,” Will said, his voice steady and resolved, “for showing me the true meaning of family.”  
  
Behind him, Will felt Hannibal grasp his shoulders and turn him again, concern tightening the witch's features. They shared a look, Hannibal questioning, Will considering, before the younger man nodded, just once.  
  
“Are you certain?” Hannibal asked, brushing a curl behind Will’s ear.  
  
“There isn't another way,” Will replied, leaning into the touch. “We'll do it together,” he added, and pressed a sweet, sad kiss to his witch’s lips.  
  
The kiss held a promise meant for all their long lives and so its power perhaps explains why, for a moment, Hannibal forgot himself, all his focus for Will and Will alone.  
  
And not Freddie.  
  
Who, finding herself suddenly free to move again, and with her enemies distracted, decided that she would have to do without the aid of a mob, and kill her brother and his lover herself. Her eye fell on Hannibal's cleaver and she crossed the room lightly to pick it up, testing the weight and determining that she could easily make the throw to bury it in the back of the witch's skull.  
  
Sadly for Freddie, in her excitement she had overlooked that not all Hannibal's spells required his full or constant attention. And so, as she loosed the blade to spin end over end towards Hannibal’s head, she found her wrist being sharply tugged to the side by her golden shackles, and could only watch as the cleaver buried itself in the wall next to Will, drawing a startled shout and then a matched pair of feral looks as the magical couple turned towards her.  
  
As one, without the need for words, they descended on Freddie. They did not stop to hesitate. They did not stop to think. As one, they lifted her from either side, bore her aloft and conducted her into the heat of the open oven. It was Will who slammed the door. He sensed her anguish, her bitter pain and unfiltered hatred and it did not touch him.  
  
It would never touch him again.  
  
As his sister’s screams filled the room, Will allowed himself to be gathered into Hannibal's arms, panting and shaking and unsure of whether to laugh or cry. Quietly, he laid his head against the witch's chest. It was a strange kind of peace, that he had achieved here, one created in a crucible of blood and death. But as he felt Hannibal’s hands against his hips, his cheek set warm against Will’s curls, Will had only one thought in his head.  
  
It was beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna talk Hannigram? Come find me on [tumblr](http://victorineb.tumblr.com/)!


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